


Can I get that with?

by divagonzo



Series: 7 Deadly Sins [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 09:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11757333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divagonzo/pseuds/divagonzo
Summary: Summary: Ron and Hermione, who are normally very careful with their galleons, go out to an expensive restaurant on a date. There’s more going on that just date night.





	Can I get that with?

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Seven Deadly Sins fest at Sinfully-Romione on Tumblr.

* * *

No one saw the couple apparate into an alley behind a block of buildings in the heart of London. Muggles mistook the buildings surrounding them for being derelict but St. Mungo’s wasn’t ever busy on a Tuesday night. For the couple, it was also the only night their schedules meshed in the last 10 days and were both free for the next four.

Ron stepped out first, wand carefully concealed in his hand under his jacket while Hermione stood behind him, peering around him to appear like they were a loving couple walking to dinner in London. They took off, walking with a purpose, with Ron easily keeping up with Hermione’s pace.

“So where are we going?”

“I wanted to take you out on a real date. You’ve been waiting on me patiently for the last six weeks, considering how busy I’ve been. So, I thought we’d go out for dinner. I asked and one of the other directors mentioned this restaurant and said they have really good food. Besides,” she walked hand in hand with him, setting a pace he wasn’t uncomfortable with, “the kids are back in school so we don’t have to hurry home so your Mum can go to bed.”

Ron stopped. “You don’t like my cooking anymore?”

Hermione stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Oh Ron, I love your cooking, but I wanted us to have a proper date out.”

He pulled her close, kissing her head. “You mean one where we actually have clothes on, surrounded by other adults and having meaningful discussions involving your work or mine? That sounds like a load of bunk.”

Hermione squeezed his hand. “Not like I don’t like our arrangements at home, when I am home,” she kept her eyes forward but a grin on her face, considering their Friday night date night at home, when they kids were off at school, involved plenty of wine and no clothes and anything that happened, happened, “but I thought you’d enjoy a night out of the kitchen.”

“But I like cooking for us, Hermione. And I do miss the kids when they are away at school.”

“I do too but I also know that you like going out on dates, where we dress up some and have fun.”

“So we’re out on a date because – “

“I wanted us to have dinner and maybe dancing and who knows what else?” She glanced at her husband of 20 years and smirked. “I wholly intend the night to end with us being shed of clothes doing things that we both enjoy.”

“Now that’s a plan I can get behind. Now where are we going?”

“It’s a really nice restaurant that serves steaks and has decadent desserts.”

“And dancing?”

“There’s the club on Diagon Alley. Tonight they have some jazz music you like so much.”

“Is that why you asked me to wear my nicer shirt and trousers?”

“Well, if we are going to be out,” she smiled, “I do want my husband to look fit, to make the other birds jealous of us.”

“Hermione, that broom flew away years ago. No one’s hit on me in years, not since the kids were shorter than you. The last one that hit on me was at that Ministry party years ago and she somehow ended up with a roaring case of the giggles, laughing for five minutes because no one could correctly do the counter-curse.”

“Well, she shouldn’t have been so inebriated that she kissed you without asking,” she said sternly.

“But she did ask?”

Hermione stopped short. “She walked up to you, said you were the finest bloke at the party, full-on snogged you, right in front of me, then had the audacity to fondle your bits. She’s fortunate that I only did a non-verbal giggle jinx on her rather than put her in Azkaban for sexual assault on you.”

“She was drunk and did it for a laugh,” he retorted.

Hermione stepped in close, pressing him into the lamppost behind him. She smiled and it was the one that betrayed the frightening side of her that she kept well-guarded and under control, and secretly enhanced his bits. “I’m the only one,” she surreptitiously fondled his bits and he gulped, “who gets to touch these. I’m the only one who can truly appreciate the power this wand holds. I’m the only one who can control the power of this wand.” She squeezed for half a second and he yelped. She smirked. “And I’m the only one who is allowed to touch you that way.”

“Sorted,” he shook his head. She stepped back and he adjusted his trousers. “You know, you can still be quite frightening; incredibly sexy and fucking frightening.”

“I’m glad you agree. Now let’s get to dinner. I’m peckish.” Hermione took off and he was left standing dumbfounded.

“You?” He walked fast to catch up with his wife and saw the restaurant entrance just ahead. “Did you forget to eat breakfast and lunch again today?”

“I was in meetings most of the day, with the other directors, and got called away for another when the rest went off for lunch.”

“Hermione, you know better.”

“I know. That’s why I’d asked Miranda to make reservations and owled you at 4.”

He stepped up to the door and let Hermione in, following her to the hostess station.

A young man walked up to the hostess station, wearing a smile that didn’t fit his eyes. He was dressed in a properly cut muggle suit, with bright red tie. “May I help you?”

“You have reservations for Granger, party of two. My assistant called earlier.”

The sullen host looked in the reservations book. “Yes, we do. Please follow me.”

They trailed through the restaurant, garnering some looks from other patrons passing. Hermione, before leaving her office at the Ministry, removed her over-cloak and boots and put on a sharp navy suit and heels, adding 2 precious inches to her height, to match Ron slightly. Hermione found a shop that routinely carried his size clothing and he benefitted from looking sharp when he wasn’t working for George. His navy blazer and trousers fit well, unlike what he had growing up.

“Here we are: a table for two away from the bar, like your assistant requested. Is there anything else for the moment?”

“Would you send the sommelier over? We would like recommendations to accompany our dinner this evening.”

“Of course,” he smiled again, showing teeth that her parents would be proud of, before they sat down.

“Wine? Are you thinking of ordering a whole bottle of wine with our dinner?”

“Actually, I’m thinking of two. We’re celebrating in addition to having a date, so I want us to have a nice evening.”

“Blimey! We’ve not done this in ages, not since the kids were born and you signed the contract as a department solicitor in the Magical Law office.” He looked around and saw no one bothering to look their way. “Do we have the galleons for it?”

“Yes, love, we do, and you can speak normally. I’ve already created a privacy bubble for our table. We can hear everything around us, but nothing flowing out.”

“You mean like the ones we used on our bedroom at home?” She winked with a sinful smile on her face. She looked over his shoulder and Ron turned his head to see their waiter.

“Good evening, my name is Alistair, and I will be your server this evening,” he said at a fast clip. “Would you like some starters before your meal this evening?”

Hermione picked up the single sheet laminated menu, scanning it. “Yes,” Hermione looked up from the menu. “Could we order chicken drumsticks, French onion soup, and calamari, to start.” She looked up and saw Ron looking gobsmacked. “I mentioned I was peckish.” She turned her attention to the waiter. “And I’d also like a glass of mineral water, for now. And could you also bring some garlic bread, for my French onion soup?”

“Might I suggest drawn butter for the calamari? It is fresh today.”

“That sounds good.”

“Excellent. And for you, sir?”

“That is for both of us,” He cheeked. “But I’d like a beer with my appetizers.”

The waiter mentioned a particular brand and Ron agreed.

“Very good, sir. I will return with your starters and inquire about your meal.”

The waiter wandered off and Ron scowled. “The bloody hell, Hermione! You never eat that much, like ever. Not even when we were starving.”

“I did when I was pregnant with Hugo, if I might remind you,” she bit back. “Calamari with the French onion soup is delicious. And I did order the chicken drumsticks for you, dear.”

He scowled. “I can order my own, you know?”

“Sorry,” she lowered her eyes. “I guess I was still in work mode, having to dictate to other people who aren’t you or your level of competence, on what to do.”

“Sorted.” He took a deep breath, “’cause I wanted an order of dipping skins.”

“Sorry,” she shrunk a little. “We can order that when the waiter gets back.”

“The maître’d asked for me to speak with you?” another waiter stood at their table. “I am the restaurant sommelier.”

“What do you recommend, in white and red this evening?”

“Well, the Yealands Sauvignon Blanc is excellent, and the Argentinian Malbec is excellent with steak.”

“Then a bottle of the Blanc with our starters, and the Malbec with dinner, please.”

“Those are excellent choices this evening. I will return shortly with them.”

The sommelier left and Hermione saw Ron sitting there across from her, speechless. “You’re touched. You ordered two bottles of wine with dinner? Are you even my wife? This is mental.”

“I am, dear.” She winked. “You had me for lunch yesterday in my office while three junior solicitors were in the next room doing researching for my current case.”

“Hermione!” Ron turned an amazing shade of aubergine. “They were not! And if they were, you let them stay there! They’d heard everything!”

“I’m kidding, Ron. They went down to the ministry canteen for lunch when you walked in to shag me on my desk.”

“And about this meal! We’ve not even ordered our meal yet, much less pudding, and it must be a hundred pounds, at least!”

“I told you, we’re celebrating.” She bit off the rest when the waiter returned with their appetizers and her mineral water. “Now, for your meal, sir, ma’am?”

Ron checked the menu for his dinner entrée, to make sure he ordered right. “I’ll have the ten ounce sliced steak and a jacketed potato, with bacon and butter.”

“Excellent choices, sir. And for you?”

Hermione handed over her menu to the waiter. “I will have the peppered steak and seasoned vegetables. I’d like the steak medium, along with red wine sauce, a side of garlic butter, as well as a goat’s cheese salad, with the dressing on the side and absolutely no mushrooms.”

“Is there anything else, madam?”

Hermione squinted and the waiter smiled weakly.

“I will have those orders in for you shortly.”

The waiter departed and before Ron could open his mouth, the wine steward arrived. “Here is your bottle of Blanc, madame.” He uncorked it and presented it to Hermione. She sniffed it carefully before nodding in approval. “Want to smell the cork?”

Ron grunted. “Your nose is better than mine when it comes to those things.”

The waiter poured a glass of both, waiting with some trepidation. Hermione took a careful sip before smiling. “This is excellent. Thank you.”

“Then I will return when your meal arrives. If you need anything else, please let me know.” The wine waiter left.

“Merlin’s saggy y-fronts, is anyone else going to come to our table to natter about stuff?” Ron took a sip of wine while Hermione smirked slightly. He took a deep breath, seeing that no one else was going to intrude for at least a minute. “Now that we’ll be left alone a bloody moment, what are we celebrating?”

Hermione dipped her spoon into the French onion soup and took a bite. She groaned in appreciation. “Well, you know how the Director was talking retirement about six months ago? How he was sick of playing the politics game between the Purebloods, complaining they’d been maligned long enough, and the younger Directors, who are mostly half? And that he was going to retire to a beach where no one existed except for him?”

“Yeah, sure, and when I asked, you said that you weren’t up for consideration because they normally pick crusty pureblood dodgers who are so grey-headed and blind that they must have been tutors when Dumbledore was a lad. Scrimgour was an outlier, being he was only 75 when he was named Director of MLS.”

“Well, yeah. You said you’d probably have to be a great-grandmother with steel grey hair and slightly touched before they’d even consider you for a Director’s position, especially since your brand of Ministry politics involves perfect logic they can’t refute and a beater’s bat when they try to stand against you.”

“The Ministers decided on who was to be promoted to Director of MLS.” She took a bite of calamari and groaned again. She swallowed that bite and smiled. “I accepted their recommendation and accepted the promotion to Director earlier today.”

“You what!” Ron yelled. He looked around and no one had noticed his exclamation which should have been heard at the Burrow. “Director? My wife! And not even 40 yet!”

“Now you see why we are celebrating. I was in meetings all day, between accepting it, signing the contract for the position, and also speaking with the retiring Director about taking over duties over the next six months. That’s why I’ve been so incredibly busy the last six weeks, because they were going over every single thing I’ve performed in MLS, from the after-case reports, caseloads, docket dictations – everything. They shoved me through the ringer, raked me over the coals, and tossed me into the fire, trying everything to see that I was the right candidate for the position.”

“But you didn’t say anything!” He picked up a chicken leg and ripped a portion off. “Me, Ron, the love of your life. You could have told me!”

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up, especially in light of how you were treated there, and the Muggleborn bias the ministry still has on the executive level positions. Yes, Kingsley and I have worked tirelessly the last five years slowly changing the hearts and minds in the Ministry but some of the grumpy goats in the Wizengamot still seem to think that only Purebloods of good standing are worthy of being in the highest echelons at the Ministry.” Hermione took a drink of her wine. “Would it be in poor taste if I said I’m waiting for the day when they are replaced permanently?”

“They put you through hell, didn’t they, and you never said a word.”

“Yes they did and no, I didn’t, but I didn’t need to speak about it, did I? I could have sworn you’d figure it out since you’re completely brilliant.”

“I guess I missed the clues for this one.” Ron shook his head. “I wasn’t complaining that we were shagging like rabbits for a month. I should have known something was going on and you needed me for stress relief.” He looked down and saw her soup was gone, and so was the calamari. Her wine glass was also drained. “Please tell me you’re not using a time-turner to eat tonight. I swear a second ago your plates were full.”

“I thought you’d have finished mine by now, frankly.” She reached for the bottle of wine and poured herself a second glass.

“Normally yes, but I’m still shocked at the news. I mean, I know you’re incredible at your job, and your conviction rate is close to perfect – “

“So I lost one case on a technicality. I don’t count that.”

“Yeah, well, but being Director is different, if I understand it. It’s more managing people and the direction of the department, not trying cases as often and having to politic with Kingsley for budget funding and networking and – “

“You’re saying I might not be able to do it,” she asked before taking a sip of her white wine.

“I’m not saying that,” he replied back, almost as rote, “but it’s more politics and budgets and headaches than chasing your passions for equality for non-humans and tearing down the obsolete Pureblood laws on the books. It’s like you’re going into the belly of the beast and wrestling the basilisk from the inside-out. I worry that the stress and pressure from the social requirements will open you up to someone trying to betray you and the work you’re doing.”

“I – “

The sommelier approached the table with the bottle of red wine, presenting the cork to Ron this time. He took it and mimicked what Hermione did with the other one. “Thanks but I have no nose for wine. I leave that to my wife to decide.” Ron handed it over to Hermione and she took a long sniff, smiling. “This will be excellent with dinner.”

The waiter lifted the wineglasses and poured for both, smiling at Ron before departing. “I think he fancies you, dear.”

“Who, the wine waiter? Bloke must know I’m completely taken with you.”

Another waiter arrived to remove the other dishes from the table and a third server brought out their meals and sides. Ron waited for the servers to dispense their dishes and meals before looking at Hermione. She had cut her portion of steak and tucked in, relishing the first savory bite.

“This must be a dream, because you’re eating like I normally do.”

“I’m sure I won’t be able to finish everything, Ron. You’re the one with the appetite.”

“So tell me how they will transition you into the role. And is this it for you? Or do you want to eventually stand for the Minister’s position.”

“Kingsley is doing a fine job and I still have much to learn from him. But I also have the energy and the passion still for the job I accepted today. It will be an excellent learning experience, how to deal with others in the political realm,” she took a bite of courgette, “and how to deal with people who would smile while they committed treason to see me hang.” Her smile turned vicious. “I have to learn to smile and cut a wizard who won’t support me.”

“It can’t be that bad.”

“There are seven members of the Wizengamot who had the bollocks to tell me that if I disappeared tomorrow, they would lift a glass of Odgen’s Reserve to celebrate – and they said that to me in front of Kingsley. Another twelve said that they hope to outlive me so they can pass water on my gravestone.”

“Who are they?” his voice grumbled and Hermione smiled. “I will deal with them myself.”

“No you won’t. Besides, your brother Bill heard them when they said the second. It seems that his standing in the Wizengamot has some benefits. He said something I deigned to not hear and they scrambled away so fast I’d swear they’d embarrassed themselves.”

“Did it help, what he said?”

Hermione put her knife and fork down, her meal barely touched. “I’m not worried about the ones who talk bluster and then don’t do a thing about it. If I didn’t have any enemies in the Wizengamot, I’d be concerned.” She took a sip of red wine and picked up the linen napkin to wipe her lips. “No, I’m more concerned about the ones who work for me, like that sod Michael Selwyn. He’s the golden boy of the Magical Law Service and tapped to take my associate’s position. He has no qualms kissing my ass, or trying to, but I also hear that his entire career goal is to nullify and reverse every single thing I’ve done since I stepped into the Ministry. I never thought I’d say this but this tosser makes Malfoy look like a Muggle lover.”

“Wow. For you to say that is something.”

“I deal with Malfoy, from time to time, in my job and while he’s not my favorite person to deal with, he is still friends with our daughter. I rather deal with Astoria and I do correspond with her about twice a week regarding the children. But he’s miles more civil than Selwyn is.”

“Is Malfoy still a bottom feeding twat?”

Hermione sat back with her glass of wine, sitting quietly while thinking. “You could say so. He’s more civil now, but you can tell he’s dying to say something cheeky to me. Astoria is lovely but she must be daft because I can’t see what she sees in that git. Maybe he learned to treat people decently and I can’t see it. I have to remember that he’s a grown man, with a family, and earned his place at St. Mungo’s. No one gave him a thing after the war so I have to respect it, at least professionally. All of that makes him considerably better than that twit Selwyn.”

“Hermione, not to interrupt, but are you done eating?”

She looked down at her plate arrangement and then looked up at Ron. She had maybe four bites of her steak, only a small amount of her vegetables, and had ignored the garlic bread still left on the table. “I think I am,” she swirled her wineglass.

Ron grinned and pulled her plate over, switching it for his empty one. “It must be the wine talking. I don’t get how you are still such a lightweight.” He tucked into another piece of steak, groaning in appreciation. “I thought you’d be able to drink like a fish now.”

“Maybe my eyes were bigger than my stomach? I could have sworn I’d be able to finish it all. I certainly was hungry enough earlier to eat a hippogriff.”

“Or maybe it’s the wine,” he cheeked back. “And you did mention going out dancing after dinner. I’m sure we can get you more wine there, or something stronger.” He waggled his eyebrows and she drank down the rest of her wine, a small amount sloshing over her lips. She licked them and he felt the first tightness in his trousers.

“Will you be sober enough to get us home if I do,” she pulled her purse from her other hip and opened it, showing a small vial of pink potion, “because if you’re going to get inebriated at the club, I need to take this now.”

“I’ll be sober enough for us to get to the club. You deserve a night of celebrating and being slightly pissed.” He plunked another bite of steak into his mouth. “Well, as Director, why don’t you have an Auror on duty shadowing us?”

“I am not officially Director for six months. There’s the transition time to it.”

“So we’re going out for dinner and dancing to celebrate something six months from now? I get that.”

“Love, I signed the magical contract. I’m getting my new pay scale starting today.”

Ron picked up his glass and drained the rest of the wine in one gulp. “You’re full of shit.”

She shook her head. “Far from it, love. That’s why it took so long. I knew how much Cavendish was making, down to the knut. They tried to browbeat me into taking 500 galleons a month less than Cavendish. I told them they could find someone else for that bullshit, since I was already making that amount as assistant director. Why would I take a Director’s position for no pay increase?” She reached for the wine bottle and poured another glass. “I had one who was quite passive-aggressive, while not actually saying it directly, that I might be overpaid since I wasn’t worth warm piss in a grotty book. I ignored him since he’s a pain in the arse anyway. But the rest? I think they were gobsmacked that I was already making so much. When I brought up my credentials, my court record, my legislative record, and all the work I have done the last 15 years in the department and in the Ministry, they backed off quite a bit. But the one git in particular got my temper up, with his insult, that I refused the amount they were paying Cavendish.”

“You what!”

She winked. “Yeah. I told them that since they lowballed me, I told them I wanted 15% more than Cavendish was paid. Eventually, they gave in.”

“How the bloody fuck did you manage that?”

Hermione smiled, the one that promised a passionate fuck later that night. Ron shifted in his seat while trying to take the pressure off of his now constricted bits. “I mentioned to them that I was the only one in the room, besides the retiring Director, who had never been brought before the Wizengamot on corruption charges. It seems that was an excellent leverage point with them.”

“Bloody fuck! Did it work?”

“It did, especially when I mentioned the Lestrange case and the Malfoy case.”

“Oh fuck,” Ron drank the last of his wine and reached for the bottle to pour a second glass. Unlike Hermione, Ron could hold his weight in alcohol and rarely had a hangover now. “That was cruel and manipulative and fucking brilliant.” He held his glass out to his wife and they clinked glasses.

“They deserved to be called out for trying to insult me. Nonetheless, I am sure that word will spread that I did that today and there will be plenty trying to sabotage my efforts.”

“What do you have in mind to do, love?”

Hermione looked up at the waiter standing at the table, smiling once again. “Would either of you care for dessert, perhaps a slice of cheesecake to share or an after-dinner aperitif from the bar, perhaps?”

“Ron, a dessert for you, perhaps?”

Ron smiled. “A piece of chocolate orange indulgence cake, please.”

“I think I will finish the wine as my dessert tonight.”

“Excellent,” the waiter took three plates from the table and departed.

“Now back to what we were saying, love.”

“Kingsley and I have done plenty of work the last ten years but there is still plenty we need to do.”

“Such as?”

“Well, I want to look at how the Wizengamot allots their seats. I’m not blind. I see that the bulk of the seats are held by Pureblood families or wealthy ones. It reminds me of the Muggle House of Lords, where there is a peerage is granted by who is in power, and that they hold onto it for as long as they want, unlike the jostling in the Muggle side.”

“You think it’s dominated by Purebloods, even if it’s been 20 years now?”

“I do. I wrote a white paper on it a year ago, for Director Cavendish, which was signed off on by Justin Finch-Fletchley for the Wizengamot, over how the bulk of those in the Wizengamot hold onto their seats by political donations, and keep their places even if they are convicted of abuse, corruption, fraud – whatever. That needs to change. Justin already said he would stand for the new legislation once I present it before the Wizengamot.”

“Bill would support you. I know he will.”

“Yes, but Bill is only one of fifty one. There’s at least a third of them who, if they could get away with it, would execute me and be celebrated that night for disposing of me.”

“You keep bringing that up.” Ron stopped when he saw the waiter walking towards their table with the pudding on the tray.

“Here you are, sir: chocolate orange indulgence cake.” Ron watched the waiter scowling slightly before departing.

“What’s that bloke’s problem?” Ron pulled the fork off of the plate and tore into his cake.

“I’m not worried about him, Ron. I’m worried about how much the Ministry will push back against the reforms I want to enact and present in the next five years. It’s better than it was when we were just starting but it has a long way to go. I don’t want the recalcitrant purebloods stopping the reforms because they feel threatened, when the proposals I have will help them, long-term.”

“And Kingsley? Will he be supportive of your efforts?” Ron said through a mouthful of cake, savoring the taste.

“Absolutely! While he is a Pureblood, Andromeda has quietly swayed him to these reforms, especially the ones benefiting those who are anything but Pureblood. Teddy seems to have made an impact in the Ministry, especially the year he served in the Wizengamot after being named Head Boy at Hogwarts. His lineage helped, but since he’s also a cousin of Draco, that helped, too.

“You really should try a bite. It’s excellent, better than Mum’s chocolate cake.”

“And I will,” she mentioned when he waved a spoonful of pudding her way. She took it, licking the delicacy and moaning. “Oh this is decadent. It tastes like they put expensive orange liqueur in the sauce.”

“I plan on making it this week for us, if you can make it home after work one night.”

“I’m not that busy,” She saw him giving her a dirty look, “or maybe I am. How about if I adjust my schedule so I’m home two nights at the normal time this week?”

“Two nights?” Ron offered a predatory smile over his wineglass. “I really need to discuss with you the establishment of work and personal boundaries when it comes to work. If you recall, Kingsley had to send you home for a fortnight many times, because you threw yourself into work when I was off on missions. He told me there are half a dozen times he forced you on leave when you were working too much while I was gone.”

“That was in the first years, Ron, before we married and had children.”

“And now that our kids are off at Hogwarts,” He looked around and saw no one snooping close enough to potentially over-hear them, he continued, “you are going to throw yourself back into work. But what if I want some time home with my wife, wearing nothing and drinking wine and laughing at something completely barmy?”

“How about this, then: three nights a week, and at least 2 Friday nights a month? You know the Ministry Law Service is on duty at all hours, just like Aurors are. There’s been plenty of months where Harry has been at work for 120 hours a week, only going home for a shower and a change of clothes.”

“Does that mean going into work at six am and working 12 hour days, and also putting in appearances at Ministry affairs when Kingsley needs you?” The look he gave her made her realize he knew what her life was about to turn into.

“I don’t plan on appearing at all of them,” she whigned before reaching for the wine bottle, pouring the last of the bottle in the glass. Between the two of them, they’d consumed both bottles. “That’s why I have assistants, who can go put in appearances, with one or two who will report back to me what that sniveling git Selwyn says.”

“You think he’ll try to sabotage you within the first year?”

She finished the last bit of wine and put the glass down before picking up the napkin to wipe her mouth. “Actually, I will be disappointed if he’s not tried it within the first six months. I look forward to making him redundant, no matter how much the family will protest. At least I know he will try. I don’t know who else will, though. That’s a problem.”

“Will there be anything else, ma’am?”

Hermione looked up at the sullen waiter. “No, thank you. Dinner was excellent and so was the service.” He handed over a leather bill holder to Hermione and she saw Ron staring at the departing waiter’s back. “He could smile a little more,” he grumped.

“Maybe he’s being a git because you didn’t flirt with him.”

“Sorry, but he’s so not my type. I have one. It’s you. Everyone else pales in comparison.”

Hermione scanned the bill twice before reaching for her billfold and pulled out a sparkling credit card. Ron recognized it as the Weasley Wizarding Wheeze’s personal credit line account. “Do I even want to know what the bill came out to?” Ron asked while finishing off his glass of wine and the last bite of pudding.

“It rang up about what I expected, for a celebratory dinner: about two hundred pounds or so, not counting gratuity for the waiter and the sommelier.”

“You mean we have to pay the wine guy too? That’s a load of rubbish.”

“Oh, no, no dear. His pay is a percentage of every bottle of wine sold. He made his night from us and the couple at the next table. Theirs was considerably more expensive wine and champagne.”

“So why didn’t we order that for us?” The waiter came over at her eye-contact with him and he departed to process their check. “Didn’t you tell me champagne was for celebrations?”

“Well, yes, but I had Miranda send a bottle back to our residence for when we get home. We will properly celebrate there, after we go dancing.”

“You still want to go dancing, after this meal we had? Merlin, I’m ready for a kip.”

Hermione reached into her purse and pulled out a different vial. It glowed florescent pink, in a virulent shade. “You recognize this, right?”

He grinned. “I do.”

“Once we’re outside, after I’ve signed for the meal, we’ll injest this. We’ll go to the club and have maybe two or three hours dancing before we take it home for even more fun.”

“When was the last time you took that potion, Hermione? You know those are addictive, just like I do.”

The waiter returned with her card and the receipts. He scowled again before leaving. “I’ve not had a vial of pepper up potion in six weeks. The only reason I’m considering it for tonight is due to the fact that I’ve been awake since 5am and I don’t plan on falling asleep completely until 5 am tomorrow morning.” Hermione finished her signature with a flourish on the receipt before pocketing the other one. She stood with Ron coming up behind her. She leaned into his chest, looking like she was slightly off-balance. “It won’t seem real until I celebrate with you, at home, with you fucking my brains out.” She leaned back from him, smiling demurely. “Ready?”

They departed the restaurant, intent on swinging around a wooden dance floor to some special kind of magic before retiring for the night.


End file.
